The ick factor

You know you're a mom when...

1. You go to take a bite of your toast, the one and only thing you have in the house for breakfast at the moment, and you realize, by the smell, that you you haven't quite gotten all of the poop out from under your fingernail from an early morning diaper change. The grossest part? You're starving, so you keep eating, since you probably already ingested some at this late point in the morning, anyway.

2. Your precious baby is sick, and you see that he's making that face - the face every mom learns to recognize - and you realize that he's probably getting ready to vomit. Before I was a mom, my first instinct would've been to run in the opposite direction. Now? I hold my hand under his chin, rub the back of his head, and tell him, "If you're going to spew, spew into this."

3. The sight of boogers used to repulse me. The mere thought of boogers could bring me to my knees...especially a toddler's boogers, which seem to have amazing, endless properties of elasticity to them. Now? If the dreaded booger bulb is nowhere to be found and my child has one visible in his nose, I'll just pick it out. And wipe it on my pant leg/bathrobe sleeve...whatever I have, because let's face it - who really has Kleenex around when needed the most?

4. Being sprayed with snot and Cheerios from a massive sneeze isn't quite as gross as I would've imagined.

And this pretty much sums up the last 7 days of my life. Jealous?

Little girls, little girls...

Seriously, what is it about having a baby girl that turns your average, not-overly-girly mom-to-be into someone who begins obsessing over bedding and blankets? I don't recall having OCD about baby boy's nursery decor while he was still in utero. Maybe my husband will disagree with me, but I just don't remember it being that way. I knew from the start which adorable jungle-themed bed set I wanted for his room. This time, I am obsessed with the color scheme for the new baby's room-to-be, scouring the internet for things that will match it. My latest obsession is the aden+anais swaddling blankets that come in pink and brown. I need them. I can't stop thinking about them. I've attempted to order them several times, but they're on backorder, and the shipping is astronomical and I always cancel out at the last second. I don't own a darn piece of clothing - or anything else, including Pepto Bismol - that comes close to resembling the color pink, yet I am pretty sure the fate of the world (and the nominee for the Democratic candidate for the presidency) rests on whether or not my daughter has these blankets.

Damn it. I happened to glance to my left just now. What did I see? My pink Razr. In all fairness, though, it's more of a fuschia color than pink. Okay. Enough of that. Lauren from The Hills has the same phone, so it's cool.

Also? Diaper bags. I was a bit more fanatical when it came to picking a diaper bag. I didn't want it to scream "LAME DIAPER BAG" therefore implying "LAME NEW MOM." I wanted it to be trendy, but not so trendy that it looked like I was trying to be trendy. This time, I'm looking for a diaper bag that is made for moms with 2 babies. I found one. I need it. I have to have it. It's uber-trendy and all the cool moms have one. It was featured on The View. I *could* use my current bag, but it's definitely a boy bag. I need a transgendered bag. I'm trying to gather the courage to purchase the bag online, but never in my life could I imagine paying close to $100 for something that will hold crumbs and be stained with spilled breast milk and spit up and will occasionally sit on a public restroom floor harboring e. coli and SARS and MRSA and crabs. And strange short and curlies.

I've gone off topic.

Could someone out there score me some Tessalon Perles? My primary care doctor doesn't seem to care that every time I cough I'm pretty sure my cervix dilates another centimeter. This would not be good, as I'm pretty sure the baby doesn't have eyes yet, and then she wouldn't be able to ogle and enjoy the fabulous blankets I'll be purchasing for her.

*disclaimer - i'm not *really* looking to score the tessalon perles over the internet - that would be illegal. although, if someone were to offer them to me it sure would take a lot of arm twisting not to accept them. seriously. this cough is a bitch. i neither advocate nor condone the exchange of drugs, prescription or otherwise, in an illegal manner. unless you can get me some tessalon perles. so if someone sees fit to try to sue me over that statement, go for it. refer to a post made on 11/30/07 - i *still* got nothin'...except this cough.

Milestones; Missing limbs

Hitting a milestone is supposed to be a good thing, right? So why am I not overjoyed at the thought of hitting a new weight milestone? A weight I never in my life imagined I would be? A weight whose number begins with a number I should never, ever have MY weight begin with? Surely it can't be my fault - this baby must be huge. Forget the fact that I polished off two batches of cinnamon buns that my mom made for me in record time. That has nothing to do with anything.

And? My feet? Gone. They have simply disappeared. It would appear that way, at least, for when I look down I can no longer see them. Instead I see a huge round mass that my 15-month-old lovingly refers to as a ball.

Mission accomplished

We're moved. The lousy apartment in the ghetto neighborhood is no more. The move was not without its bumps and bruises, though. But it would be too easy for things to run smoothly, no?

The hubs was in the ER the night before the move - when lots of packing still had to be done - and didn't get home until 3 the morning of the move.

One of the cats got temporarily lost.

Something got broken, but I can't for the life of me remember what.

It was raining and freezing and icy all day.

I wound up with the same crud that W was fortunate to acquire. I'm afraid I'm going to cough myself into an early labor.

The baby decided to spike his first real fever, instilling in his parents a sense of panic since neither of us knew what the "take-him-to-the-ER" cutoff was for a fever. I was floored when I learned it was 105. I once had a fever of 104 and was pretty sure I was dead, but no, I had just passed out in the doctor's office.

So the 3 of us are currently sick. I'm convinced that mine is the flu, and if it is, then this will be 2 for 2 that I've had the flu shot and wound up with the flu anyway.

I'm still getting used to the creepy new-house noises. I can't quite seem to figure out where the thing that sounds like monster teeth gnashing and serial killer lip smacking is coming from, but I do know that I won't be making any solo trips to the basement any time soon. I'm pretty sure the guy from The Blair Witch is down there.

Woe is me

Thanks to a minor heart anamoly, I have the extreme pleasure of having nasty caridac symptoms while pregnant. For example, my resting heart rate last evening (in the supine position, if you will), was 104. That's small potatoes, really, (my heart rate during my last pregnancy liked to hover in the 120-130 bpm range), but it makes me feel like impending doom is near - I can't breathe, I feel like I need to claw out of my own skin. It's pretty much akin to the symptoms someone feels while having a major anxiety attack, but for me there's a physical cause for it. Not to say I'm without anxiety - please.

Are you jealous of me?

I'm thrilled to be going in for an echocardiogram on Monday, "just in case." I love those words when spoken by a doctor - JUST IN CASE. "I'm sure it's nothing, but let's make sure....just in case." Ugh. Well, doc, should I start planning my funeral? Making arrangements to screen potential new wife candidates for my husband so that I know who will replace me as Nat's mama? Because when you say "just in case" to me, those are the thoughts that pop into my head. Then he felt the need to follow up with "Because, you know, the one time we don't run the test is the time that we miss something seriously wrong." Good Lord, sir, how many times has that happened in your practice? Put me on the list for a transplant now, then, would you? I'll even take a baboon heart like Christian Slater in that movie that started with the song "Tom's Diner" by the same woman who sang "My Name Is Luca," the names of both movie and artist escaping me at the moment.

On a happier note, I've been amused lately by the random thoughts that pop into my head in the middle of the night when the fetus sees fit to try to rearrange my insides with its feet. Last night's thought?

I wonder what Regis Philbin wears when he sits in his apartment watching television.

15 months

I call this picture "No I'm NOT getting into something I shouldn't be getting into!"

Baby boy is 15 months old today, and I am elated to finally - FINALLY - report that he is walking. Not 100% full time, but at least half of his on-the-go movement is walking. It's adorable, really - I liken him to Frankenstein, complete with the waving hands in the air. It happened suddenly, almost overnight, and tonight he was looking as though he's been doing it for months, even almost running a few times. Yep - he's growing up way too fast.

He can tell you what sounds a cat, snake, giraffe (don't ask), cow, and sheep make. He still tells the downstairs dog (and oftentimes the downstairs child) to be quiet when he can hear them. He'll say "beep beep" when he hears a car horn or the microwave beep. He says "beekaball" for basketball, and "beeball" for baseball. He loves to "bow," or bounce - on the bed, on the couch...on the floor. He loves going to the local children's museum (for ages 1-4) and "touring" the countries, playing the music, playing in the pretend kitchen, garden, and farm stand...he loves to explore, loves to learn, and loves to show off any new acquired skill.

He will announce when he has to go/has gone pee pee and caca, and if he's oh-so-lucky to be in the bathroom with Mama when she has to go, loves to wave and say "bye bye, pee pee" as the toilet swishes.

He can pick out the letters O, Q, B, and the number 8 out of his bath time letter/number bath toys. He still loves to read/being read to. He loves to climb on anything - he has even tried climbing the cats on a few occasions - and I'm sure he'll love that our new home has an actual staircase that he can climb up and down.

He loves to give kisses and to snuggle and hug - melts my heart every time he makes his kissy noises. He gets more and more loving with my pregnant belly every time (please, God, let this be a sign that they'll have a good relationship).

He has begun those awful boy noises. Grunting, car noises, Cookie Monster noises...oy. All day. ALL DAY. He is definitely all boy.

After being a bit concerned after his last doctor's appointment, I type this entry with a great sense of pride for all that he has accomplished, and with a bit of a heavy heart at just how quickly time is passing. Slow dow, time...just a little.

Uh oh

Is it normal for the first thing you feel when you find out the sex of your child to be unmistakable fear? Because that's what I felt today. A distinct feeling of, "I'm sorry, what?" In the short drive home from the doctor I was somehow able to play out the next 30 years in my mind...and it left me terrified. If ever there was a time I doubted my ability to mother, this is it.

In other news, XL maternity underwear. Have you seen 'em? I'm sure they'd be adequate to sail a boat around the world. Once upon a time I could comfortably wear a size medium. Then I got pregnant the first time, and the size went to a large. Today I put on my very first pair of granny panties XL maternity underwear and was mortified. About as unsexy as you can get. My secret? I love them. Super comfy. Everyone should wear them.

Yes'm

When did I become a ma'am? At what point do you cross over from being called miss in the grocery stores and Panera by the nice young men to the dreaded ma'am? Is it because I have a kid on my hip? Because I'm hugely pregnant? Because I seem, virtually overnight, to have aged about 15 years when I wasn't looking? Really, I appreciate the attempt at being polite, especially when so many people who work those types of jobs are bitter about the state of their lives (or they're nice looking young college men) but if you really want to stoke my ego, get a tip, prevent me from asking you to bag my groceries in paper bags...just call me miss. Please. Forget the bun in my hair that's hanging halfway down my head, forget the fact that I have no makeup on and my glasses are crooked, and forget that I probably haven't showered in 2 or 3 days - I'm a mom. I've earned the right to go out in public like that. You will, somday, too. Unless you're one of those college men. Then be damn sure to be nice to your wife when it, inevitably, happens to her.

What am I, bottled water?

The hubs was very recently told that I need to be filtered. This from someone who fits the old adage "those who live in glass houses ought not to throw stones." I never saw such a glass house!

I prefer filtered water, myself. SmartWater, Poland Spring...those will suffice. Filtered coffee, obviously, is much easier on the palate than unfiltered. But a filtered me? Nah. Now where's the fun in that?

Boredom ensues

It's amazing how little there is to do on a cold, wintry day in NYS on the first weekend since you've ditched your cable. I could read, but I don't have anything lying around that I haven't already read at least twice. I could clean, but since we're leaving this hole in 3 weeks I don't really see a point. I could pack, but we have no boxes yet.

My mom came to visit for the day yesterday. It's fun to watch the baby interact with her - it took him a bit to warm up to her since he's so used to seeing her on "her turf" and not his, but once he did he was cute, almost as if he were flirting. I love to sit back and watch him interact with other people. He's only really ever around us (me, mostly), so I'm glad to see that he's able to warm up fairly quickly to others. He knows and loves his Gran, obviously, but it still makes me happy to see him interacting positively with someone other than us.

Even this blog is boring today.

It's officially 4 months until Gumdrop is due. Four months yesterday, actually. Time is certainly flying. Once we've moved we'll slowly work on getting his/her bedroom ready. I've already started picking up some neutral clothing but nothing for the nursery yet. I'm still in a bit of denial that I'll have two in cribs. Cribs and diapers. Diapers and cribs and bibs, oh my.

What else? My latest obsession is with trying to live a quasi-green life. Not green as in we're-rolling-in-dough, although that would be nice. But green as in using vinegar to clean instead of Windex and trying to eliminate some unnecessary things from our lives...like cable. Oh God, how I mourn the loss of my digital cable and DVR. But it's saving us a disgusting amount of money, saving electricity, and forcing me to do something else in the afternoons while the baby sleeps.

I omitted the original final paragraph at the request of my husband who asked me to play nice about our move. So all I will say is that we're moving to a fabulous home in the 'burbs and I couldn't be happier. :)

15 months

The entire time I was pregnant with my son, I questioned whether or not I was really cut out to be someone's mother. I didn't think I had the heart, the ability, or the personality to raise a child who would grow up feeling loved, nurtured, and protected. I had myself convinced of this, up until the very moment he was placed in my arms for the first time. After that, I knew. I knew that all of my worrying had been for naught. In fact, I was convinced that I was put on this earth to be a mother - to be THIS baby boy's mother. For so long I had struggled with wanting to know what my role in this lifetime was supposed to be, and on that day in that recovery room my wondering stopped. I made a silent vow to that baby in those first few precious moments to love him more than anyone else in the world, to protect him, to teach him, to give him the best life possible.

So today, at his 15-month checkup, imagine my surprise when the doctor told us that he's currently maturing a bit slowly. He has gone from the 65th and 70th percentiles for weight and growth to the 25th percentile for both. His soft spot is still open. His speech apparently isn't what it should be (?), and he's still not walking independently. He communicates with us - he does talk, but apparently the lack of phonetecism is something that the doctor wants us to keep an eye on. Walking is officially a 15-month milestone, and when the doctor asked if the baby was running all over, I imagine I had a bit of the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face, and I told him that, while the baby does take 6 or 7 or 8 steps on his own, he's still primarily crawling and not walking independently. So we're keeping an eye on things.

Mother guilt being what it is, in all its infinite, never-ending, round-the-clock glory, set in and immediately made me place the blame on myself. What in the world have I done wrong? I've always considered myself a fairly intelligent woman - am I not smart enough to teach my son correctly? From day one I've interacted with him as though he were my peer - always carrying on conversations - NEVER doing the baby-talk thing (drives me nuts when people try to baby talk to him even now - he looks at them like they're stupid)...we've read to him since he was 2 months old. I don't know a mom who gets down on the floor and plays with her child more than I have and still do. We read almost constantly during the day. Plunk my kid down in front of the television at 15 months old? Never. Not in this house. We value human interaction in this family, and he has never shown any kind of interest in the television, anyway. Is it because I didn't breastfeed beyond 3 months? My body physically stopped producing milk due to a thyroid disorder - that one wasn't my call, and to this day it kills me to think about the physical and emotional benefits that were lost.

I'm at a loss. If, at his 18-month checkup, things haven't progressed much, then, I imagine, the real concern will set in. I don't know what else I can possibly do. Is it because he doesn't have a great deal of interaction with other kids? Well, isn't it that way for most only children who aren't daycare babies? We don't have friends or acquaintances here with children anywhere near the same age group as my son, and playgroups seem to be nonexistent in our area.

Please don't excuse my worries for anything other than concern over his well-being. I'm not the kind of mother who will be devastated if her son winds up having some kind of delay because it's a burden, or it's embarassing, or it's extra work or money for her - and I have met people like that and frankly, they make me ill. I don't want him having struggles and a hard time growing up because he might wind up being a little behind his friends. I don't want kids making fun of him. Kids are awfully cruel, and I'd hate for my baby to be the punchline of someone's joke, the object of someone else's pointed finger.

If they day hadn't started off swimmingly enough, we find out that he has a symptom or two of certain metabolic disorders and diabetes. So now I'm trying to collect a urine sample from a child still in diapers. Imagine a codpiece - this is what the specimen collector looks like. It's very sticky and adheres to his boy parts - ouch - and is too small to collect anything. So that's been fun. The doctor assures us there's nothing to worry about, but wants to run the tests just to be cautious. So waiting for that news will be joyous.

I'm sure that I'm just being a typical worried mom. I'm sure he'll catch up to where he's supposed to be. He's beautiful, he's healthy, he's so much fun to be around, and most importantly, he's loved and he knows he's loved.

I wonder when Motherhood: The Manual will be published?

The darndest things

As the annoying little yapper downstairs began yet another one of its non-stop bark-fests (this is the same dog, we were assured prior to signing the lease, that NEVER barked), my sweet, genius 14-month old looked at the front door, threw up his hands, and said, "Be quiet!" That's my boy!

Address change

To my regulars -

I'm trying to figure out if I can change the web address for this blog without having to lose my previous posts. If, one day, you try to get here and my blog seems to have disappeared, fear not - just use Google and search for "antifungal cream for worrywarts," and you'll hopefully be lead to the new address. Hopefully.

Why the hell won't my kid sleep? We've tried everything. Now he's not sleeping during the day, either. There is nothing wrong with him (unless I look at this as a red flag for autism, which I'm really trying hard not to do).

He. Just. Won't. Sleep.

Happy New Year; 14 months

The first day of the new year. 2008. I wish I had something prophetic to write about, something filled with wit and wisdom...but alas, I'm sick and it's early, and my brain isn't willing to cooperate.

I'm trying to decide if I should have a resolution or two. I can't make the overused, underdone resolution of losing weight - I have a fetus to grow. I could do the whole "I'm going to stop swearing" thing - but whenever I've done that I've let the f-bomb slip several times before lunch, and really, what's the fun in having a completely clean mouth? If I feel the need to clean it up I'll brush my teeth and chew some Orbit. I could say that I'm going to try to become a better Christian, leading me to become a better wife and mother, but even after 12 years of being brainwashed attending a private Catholic school, I'm not sure I really know how to go about that.

I could resolve to be the hell out of this apartment and into a nice neighborhood by the time the baby comes. I could resolve not to keep my mouth shut, just as a way of "keeping the peace," when people are phony and rude to my family.

I could do the dishes more often.

I've never really understood why people make resolutions. I get the whole "new year, new you" and starting fresh thing, but what is it about a date on a calendar that suddenly propels people into wanting to better themselves? Shouldn't we want to one-up ourselves each and every day?

14 months
How did my baby come to be 14 months old? How has he gone, seemingly overnight, from an infant who fit snuggly in the crook of my arm to this big pile of kid...who still likes to snuggle, but who doesn't fit quite as well? Surely I must be experiencing some kind of back-to-the-future phenomenon, and I'm only here in this moment for a short period of time. No? Well, it was worth a shot.

Progress is being made with walking. I thought for sure he'd do it for real at my parents' home during Christmas, but nothing more than 5 or 6 steps at a time. What have I been saying? Any day now!

Somehow, without our telling him, he has learned that there is a baby in my stomach. For the past few days he has become obsessed with lifting my shirt enough to see my stomach, pat my belly, blow it a kiss, and say "baby." I was floored the first time he did this. Neither my husband nor I ever explained to him or directly told him that there's a baby in there; it's a concept we figured he'd not quite be able to grasp yet. But in some odd, sibling/baby-intellect sort of way, he just knows. I find solace in that - I hope it's a sign of what will be a close relationship bewteen the two of them. Not incest-close, but friendship/protection/love-close. Just thought I'd clarify.

The word list is slowly growing. Mama, daddy, kitty, big, ball, banana, caca, car, Elmo (God help me), big caca (for the really gross diapers), uh-oh, book, meow, oh boy, oh man, good boy, bocky - his version of "broccoli," and I'm sure there one or two more that I've forgotten. Most days, he really does seem quite intelligent. I've witnessed or heard kids twice his age who can barely mumble something that slightly resembles a groan. Then there are his weird days - he'll crawl along and suddenly stop to strike a downward dog position, hold it for 30 seconds, and then sit up and shake his head and wobble around because, I'm assuming, he has made himself dizzy. He makes us laugh, that's for sure.

He loves to splash in the tub like a big boy. He has already become a picky eater - no leftovers, please. He growls every time he sees Cookie Monster in the store. He shows no interest in watching television, thank goodness. He'd rather be active. He has quite the personality, and I can definitely see both the Irish and Italian tempers already. I love him to pieces - I *still* don't know how it's going to be possible to love another one this much!

Inconclusive

That was the ruling on the gender ultrasound yesterday. This child is already deciding not to cooperate with me. The tech *did* say that she thought she may have spotted 3 dots bewteen the legs - which apparently signals a girl - but they weren't spread far enough for her to make an official ruling. Three dots.

What if it's a boy and he has 3 balls?

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays

Five more days 'til Christmas! Honestly, I feel like such a kid again during the holiday season. Now that I have my own child who can semi-understand what's going on at this time of year, it's all the more special to me. Our first Christmas with the baby last year was, obviously, special and a memory I'll keep forever, but he was too new last year. This year, my heart melts every time I see his eyes light up when he looks at Christmas lights, decorated trees (pretty-pretties, as he calls them), and when he turns the radio on to play Christmas music or when he says "ho ho ho" whenever he sees Santa.

Our goal as parents is to, of course, spoil our child(ren) at Christmas, but also to instill a sense of what the season truly is about. I look forward to teaching the Jesus-is-the-reason-for-the-season stuff, to carrying on traditions and creating our own that will, hopefully, be carried on some day, and to performing some kind of holiday good deed every year. Of course, I am beside myself with excitement at the thought of playing Santa this year. Nat doesn't quite fully get Santa yet, but he's learning. I don't see the point in spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on Christmas gifts - the true meaning tends to get lost - but each Christmas will be special. I look forward to finding new ways to make memories...for just Nat this year, and for Gumdrop as well.

Speaking of Gumdrop - we (hope to) find out the sex tomorrow at the gender ultraound. The plan, however, is to have the tech write the sex on a piece of paper and stash it in an envelope to be opened on Christmas day. A bit of a Christmas surprise.

We'll be spending Christmas Eve and day with my family. Memories of Christmases past have flooded me the last few days. Early years with the entire Italian side of my family crammed into my grandmother's small, small home on Christmas Eve...followed by the Irish side gathering at a great aunt's house later that evening. Home to bed, and up early to see if Santa had, indeed, stopped by.

So much has changed in the years separating then and now. Family dynamics and relationships, traditions - I suppose such is true for many, if not most, families out there. Still, though, it makes me sad that things have changed so much - my children won't grow up surrounded by and knowing their extended family the way my sisters and I did - but it also makes me extra thankful for memories that I have and what still remains.

Merry Christmas to all of you - may your holidays be merry and bright, and filled with much laughter and love.

Motherhood

My child will do anything to keep from having to take a nap. This includes falling and hitting his head hard enough to make him loopy and sleepy, warranting a trip to the ER and a CT scan to rule out a head injury. Once that was cleared he decided to get an ear infection which magically turned into a full-blown nasty cold approximately 2 hours after leaving the ER.

I guess he won. No one slept last night. It was like one big party.

Motherhood.

Ho ho ho

My child wasn't thrilled about seeing Santa. I think Santa was equally un-thrilled about seeing my child. Even *before* the baby started creeping out about being on a strange old man's lap, Santa made a comment about how he'd probably cry and then rolled his eyes. He didn't even "ho ho ho" for the baby. Lame. We were, as you can see, suckers enough to buy the photo commemorating the event. He was too new last year to be taken to a busy mall, so this is our first picture with the baby sitting on a pedophile's Santa's lap.

Baby #2 checkup yesterday. I love waiting 45 minutes to an hour in a waiting room, only to pee in a cup, listen for a heartbeat that I couldn't even hear, asked if I have any questions, then sent on my merry way. I will, however, have an ultrasound next week to hopefully find out the sex of this child. Then I can stop calling it "it" and "the fetus" and by his or her chosen name. I do know, however, that this child is already huge, and that it has an attitude problem, as it kept kicking or punching or head-butting the doppler as if to say, "Get that damn thing off the roof of my house!"

I realized that I never posted a 13-month update on the baby. Still no walking - seriously, any day now. How long have I been saying that? He "talks" more and more every day - he can say mama, daddy, book, kitty, pretty pretty, tree, oh man, cheese (as in for the camera, or when he wants you to smile at him), ball, hi, bye bye, zoom (for the vacuum), Jesus(for Baby Jesus in our nativity set...not as an expletive. I think.) car, and caca (for a trash can, paper/dust/lint/hair/junk on the floor/couch/pant leg/rug, or for "Hey lady, I just went caca in my pants.") When he's not endlessly repeating "caca" he's speaking in tongues, and he constantly leaves me wondering what in God's name he's saying. He has finally started to clap his hands, something I thought he'd never do. Just started doing it one day, and in the right moment. Smarty pants. He loves to play with cars and makes a sort of "vroom vroom" noise when he moves them. He's obsessed with Winnie the Pooh. He enjoys washing his "parts" in the bath and dunking his head under the water. He loves to turn the radio on the listen to Christmas music. There are days when it must be on ALL DAY or he's not happy. By the time the hubs gets home on those days, I've had more than my fill of Bing and Dean and Eartha Kitt and the guy who sings the song about the little boy who doesn't have enough money to buy shoes for his dying mother on Christmas Eve so that she can look nice when she meets Jesus later that night. Seriously, dude - was that song really necessary?

They say that I won't last too long on Broadway....

For Elisabeth and Heather

The story of how and why I chose to pursue singing is so incredibly long. I'm not sure if you want the entire back story - if you do, let me know and I'll be happy to write it. It'll just take forever. For now, I'll just give you some cut and dry answers.

My singing ambitions didn't come about until just a few years ago, the result of a medical incident, a book, a Broadway recording, and a Broadway actress. I had always had secret ambitions of acting...or something in the entertainment field. I had a lot of people tell me that I was funny, that I had incredible timing, and that I could be a true comedienne. But singing? Nah. Never really entered my mind.

Once I had ambitions, I immediately decided that I wanted to be the best. I tracked down a well-known voice teacher in NYC and arranged to meet her. I lived in Albany at the time. Fast forward a few weeks - she decided that she wanted to work with me, and we set a day and time that I would go into the city to meet her, show her my raw talent and we'd figure out where to go from there. After meeting for her and singing for her, she told me that she loved my voice and that I had potential to make something big out of it. But what direction did I want to go? In the beginning I decided that I wanted to work to pursue musical theater...or, more specific, I wanted to be on Broadway, damn it. I asked her to be honest - did I have it in me? It would take some work, she said, but I had a unique sound that would be perfect for the stage...but she did encourage me not to close my mind to other genres. It would be later that I learned I had a voice for jazz - a bit raspy, sultry...once I found it I loved it. This woman has worked with countless Broadway actors/actresses, Celine Dion, Christina Aguilera...and now me! Wow! Could I really make something of myself? I felt that she believed in me, I knew that Will believed in me, and for a small time, I believed in myself. After a while, though, I began to doubt what I could do. I held back. I talked myself down a lot. And then I got pregnant. I "pursued" this dream - a dream that was once so fierce and seemed so possible - for close to 2 years.

What was I in? Nothing. :) And I don't regret a single thing. I took a chance on something that, at one time, was so big to me, and, in retrospect, was probably near impossible. I wrote a letter to my voice teacher shortly after I had my first baby. I wanted her to see the amazing thing I accomplished. She called me after a few weeks and we chatted. She let me know that, had I stuck with what I was doing, she believed with all her heart that I would've been able to accomplish other amazing things. And she urged me not to give up.

My favorite musical? I have a special place in my heart for Wicked. Wicked when it first opened on Broadway, not the traveling show, not the crazy-fan-girl show that it has become. I read the book long before seeing the musical, and it touched me in a way that a book never has. Sounds crazy, huh? Especially since it's a book about the Wicked Witch of the West. Ha - I can name one person who would surely not be surprised - he/she doesn't know that *I* know he/she reads my blog. Boo! I also love Rent, although I never saw it with the original cast...and I'm pretty sure I would have loved it even more if I had been lucky enough to see it early on. Amazing story, amazing music.

Favorite musical actress? Idina Menzel...kind of goes along with how the whole story started. I find her voice amazing. It was *her* voice teacher I found, her voice teacher who actually felt me worthy enough to work with. I had the wonderful experience of meeting her one night after a show. Not just a quick pass-by on the street. I was able to spend a bit of time with her at the Gershwin, talking like normal people...she's simply amazing to me.

I could honestly go on and on in this post. All of that was another lifetime ago, though. I'm a mom now. Gone is the skinny(ish) girl with sexy hair extensions who walked around the streets of NYC, going to auditions, forever carrying around a bag filled with sheet music and a demo cd, just in case. No regrets. I miss that life sometimes, even though we were flat broke living in NYC...but had I pursued it further, I wouldn't have the amazing little baby toddler asleep in the next room.

I'd give my left arm for some Motrin

I'm feeling terribly uninspired. I can't come up with anything witty or comical or remotely interesting to blog about. I've had a bitching migraine for the last 3 days and am convinced that my brain is slowly deteriorating as a result. I imagine it'll just be a matter of time before the remains start to seep out of my ears.

So to you, dear readers, I make this request. Whether I know you or not, give me something to write about. I don't imagine I'll receive a flood of comments, but if I do I'll address everything over a few posts. The topic request can be anything. A question. It can be serious or funny. It can challenge something I've written about before. If you don't want me to know who you are then just comment anonymously. As long as it's not incriminating, I'll write about it. Bring it! :)

Dr. Karen Giardino in Williamsville, NY

If you live in or around the Buffalo, NY area and are in search of an endocrinologist, please heed my warning - do NOT see Dr. Karen Giardino, member of Meadowlands Endocrinology. This practice is highly negligent, completely unprofessional, and doctors and staff do not follow NYS rules and regulations pertaining to medical practice and procedure or to the release of medical records. The staff are anything but knowledgeable and medical care received is well below what is expected from a board certified medical professional. Do not place something as valuable as your health into the hands of Dr. Karen Giardino and/or Meadowlands Endocrinology in Williamsville, NY.

End of my PSA for the day. Ugh. Off to find a new COMPETENT endo so that my thyroid levels can be accurately monitored, ensuring that I don't lose this baby. Good grief.

*disclaimer - all information in this post about dr. karen giardino is based strictly on my own experience with her and/or her practice. i have no facts that will prove this is an ongoing issue, so if you're looking to sue me, don't bother - i got nothin'.

Asking for good thoughts and prayers

There was a massive earthquake in the Eastern Caribbean yesterday, including the island of Martinique. My baby sister is currently there for a study abroad program through college. Thankfully she's okay, but I know she's worried. I'm asking for all of you out there in blog land who believe in some kind of higher power to please keep her and her fellow students (as well as all of those involved in the quake) in your prayers/thoughts...for a safe remainder of her stay and a safe trip home. Thanks.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a schizophrenic, and so am I

Gotta love psychologist humor.

People amuse me. I suppose that it's partly due to my educational background (holla for a currently useless Master's in counseling psychology), but also partly because I consider myself incredibly socially awkward and introverted, and there's something cathartic about observing others' idiosyncrasies and neuroses.

There are two specific types of people who really tickle my funny bone. The first is people who are passive-aggressive. What's the point? We've all done it, but there are some people out there who turn such behavior into a real art form. It really is funny, though, to watch someone try to intentionally piss someone off, or hurt someone, or push someone's buttons, all because it makes them feel better about their pathetic state of being. Humorous. Why do you think Marie on Everybody Loves Raymond got some of the biggest laughs?

My favorite people are the habitually schizophrenic. I say habitually because they've paid their shrink to give them a less forbidding diagnosis it's my opinion that there's a little somethin' going on upstairs, but when it has been observed on a pretty consistent basis, it's hard not to have that professional personal opinion. I often notice that passive-aggressive behavior and habitual schizophrenia go hand in hand. Now, I don't know who reads this blog (unless you openly admit that you're my stalker, as one faithful reader recently has - hi stalker!), so if you take offense to my post...well, tough. It's my blog. Chances are I'm *probably* not talking about an observation I've made about you, since I've most likely never run into you in person. I can say, though, that I'm not referring to anyone in my family. Unless you're my husband, because I do find him to occasionally fall into this category, but this particular post isn't about him. Although it could be. In any case, when I encounter these types of people, I feel as though I've had a run in with Sybil (no, this isn't about me, either. Although it could be.), and it brings such excitement to my day, but I can't say anything because then people will know that I think they're nuts.

Side note - If you haven't had the experience of watching Sybil, I highly recommend it. You'll never look at your mother or enema bags the same again.

I also enjoy the people who are abusive to their children in public. Disclaimer - I don't enjoy seeing the children being treated the way they're being treated. "Enjoy" was completely facetious. End disclaimer. In any case, I can't narrow it down to a specific demographic, but there seems to be some kind of trend in the different types of people I see doing this. The best place to see these people? The malls or the grocery stores, but in other places, too. You'll know them. Usually moms, acting in ways that vary from the "benign" (smacking your child across the mouth or on the hand) to grabbing the child by the hair or around the arm in such a way that you just know will leave a red mark (if not a bruise), and usually saying something like "I'm going to punch your face in if you don't knock it off" or "Shut the &$*@ up - I'm on the phone." It all turns my stomach, really, and in my gut I know that these children will grow up only to perpetuate the cycle, have their own 6 or 7 children, and treat them the same way.

Four pieces of toast later, this post has gone in a direction completely different than I had intended. I guess we're all a little bit schizo sometimes.

I guess we're all a little bit schizo sometimes. Wait...didn't I just say that?

To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal

Pregnancy. Gotta love it. Why is it, though, that pregnancy is filled with extremes, from one end of the spectrum to the other, and, with each subsequent pregnancy, said extremes come earlier and are much more...well, extreme?

Take, for instance, morning sickness. For the majority of this pregnancy, I haven't been able to look at a crumb of dry toast without running to the toilet to throw up things my grandmother ate. However, there have been days, like today, where I can't seem to get enough to eat. There I was, sitting on the couch while the baby slept, innocently watching LMN, and before the movie was over, I had eaten an entire ball of port wine cheddar with almonds (God bless those holiday cheese balls) and a pomegranate. I feel like Grover running back and forth in an empty room saying "near.....far....," except for me it's "eat.....puke...." and I'm running from the fridge to the toilet.

Another blessing? You leak when you're pregnant. From every oriface imagineable. Except when you're not dripping/juicy/overly lubricated, you're dry. As a bone. In the desert those Kid Nation kids call home. Extremes. Diarrhea. Constipation. Runny nose. Dry nose. Leaking God knows what from God knows where, only to be faced with the oppostie dilemma the very next day.

Weepy. Homicidal. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Get me that Duggar woman on the phone. I need to know why she did this...what, 17 times? It's a wonder she's not holed up in the nut hatch somewhere.

Gift giving

Instead of buying mass-produced, possibly lead-tainted items this holiday season, take a different route - check out this website:

http://www.etsy.com

I'm not selling anything (Are you kidding? My idea of being crafty is making coffee filter "stained glass" things with vinegar and food coloring. Thank you, Mr. Wizard.), but I see a few things I'll likely purchase. If you stress out over buying gifts like I do, this site might be a godsend. Unique gifts, free of lead and other toxins...unless you find that one seller who thought it would be funny to put arsenic inside their sock monkey.

21 + 10

So yesterday was my birthday. Another year older and another year wiser, right? On some things, at least. Being a mom has definitely made me wiser in areas I never imagined. Of course, there's that mommy-brain thing - you know, the thing that makes you unable to recall your own name at times, makes you call your child by the cat's name at times. Mommy-brain. Makes even the most intelligent person feel (and sound) rather dumb sometimes. I've become a bit wiser when it comes to finances. I've become quite economical (read: cheap) in the last year. I've come to appreciate things that are truly important and have begun to place less importance on the cosmetic, the trivial, and the things that do nothing for me or my family.

But surely I can't be 31. Impossible. Didn't I just get married? Didn't I just graduate from grad school? Or better yet, college? 31 is 9 years away from 40. 31 implies grown-up. While I've definitely grown up (and out, ugh) in the last year, I certainly don't feel like a grown-up. Like an adult. I still laugh at inappropriate times, I still find those Helen Keller jokes impossibly funny, I still burp like that guy on The Simpsons, I'm still messy, I still like to be loud and make noise...those aren't the characteristics of someone who is grown up. A kid at heart, I guess, is what I'll always be. Not so bad, is it?

Happy Thanksgiving! May you all count your blessings and have much to be thankful for on this day. I know I do!

Thanks and giving

It's that time of year!

Thanks, whomever, for making us move to Buffalo. I appreciate the promotion you gave my husband, but why couldn't you have offices in a better city? One of the nurses at the OB's office saw that I moved here from NYC. "What brought you to Buffalo?!" she asked. My reply? "Satan." She nodded in empathic agreement.

Thanks, China, for trying to kill my kid.

Thank you, housing market, for going to pot when we really need our own house. Shape up after the first of the year, would you? There's a house in Amherst that has my name on it. I'm over apartment living, and I refuse to bring a newborn home to this place. Annoying dogs and gangster music do not a happy baby make.

Thank you, maternity clothes designers of the world, for making this winter's clothing line the most hideous I've ever seen.

Thank you, Writer's Guild, for screwing up my evenings. My favorite shows are all into reruns. Now what am I supposed to do? Greedy bastards.

Thank you, BBQ pork roast that I made last night, for smelling like an autopsy. Add that to the list of foods I'll never eat again.

Oh - this was supposed to be about giving, too.
Thank you, whomever, for giving me morning sickness again. Vomiting at least once a day for the last 13 or 14 weeks has been a real treat, let me tell you. Oh, and the crippling nausea that goes along with it? Score one for you. Really. You haven't lived until you've thrown up rice.

I jest. I kid. Mostly. Sure, these are all things that I'm bitter about but I like to look at the humorous side of them. In reality, I have so much to be thankful for this year. First and foremost, the sweet baby boy sleeping in the next room is the biggest blessing I've ever received. I think I was too tired from newborn Nat last Thanksgiving to really take the chance to reflect on what I was thankful for, and so I'll make up for it this year. I'm sure this time next year I'll also be giving thanks for Gumdrop (who has a name, I just need to find out the sex before I can start calling him/her by its chosen name).

We're spending the holiday with my parents and younger sister. This will be the first time in a few years that we'll be there for Thanksgiving and I'm excited. Thanksgiving was always big in our house. We weren't able to go last year because I was still on "travel restriction" from my c-section, and Nat was only 3 weeks old, so we stayed put in Brooklyn. My father will inevitably have come Christmas tunes blaring when we get there. Hopefully we'll get there in time for Nat to see some of the parade. We'll definitely look for Santa at the end. There'll be good food and the feeling of being home again. Since the birth of Nat, I've definitely gained a new appreciation for family...things seem to mean more to me, certain things are more important now than they used to be. The notion of carrying on/starting new holiday traditions with my own family excites me.

Rent the movie Home for the Holidays. If yours is one of those families who puts the fun in dysfunctional (and let's face it, everyone's family is like that to some extent...and if yours isn't, well, then, that's your dysfunction, weirdo), then you'll appreciate this movie.

Happy Thanksgiving, blog world. Travel safely, enjoy your friends or families, and may you have plenty to be thankful for. :)

Medical un-professionals

It took 2 idiots nurses to obtain a blood sample from the baby today. From a finger poke. These women were idiots. One looked like a tranny and barely spoke comprehensible English - I'm convinced she must've gone no further than the 8th grade and obtained her "degree" from Jim-Bob's Skewl of Nersing. She actually had the nerve to YELL at my son when he started crying and wiggling because what she was doing was hurting him. Because she was incompetent (she poked the finger in the wrong place), nurse #2 (not a tranny, but she was more interested in my Uggs than anything else she did) had to step in and give it the ol' college try. My baby's blood was going everything BUT the little vial...nurse couldn't manage to hold it still enough (the baby's hand wasn't moving) to collect what she needed so she told me they'd have to poke again. Yeah - um, no. Two fudge-ups are quite enough, ladies. You've got enough, you're not poking my kid again. Nurse #2 then switched her focus from my shoes to everything her 1 year old does that my baby doesn't do. Maybe if she put as much attention and interest into taking care of what she needed to do, the little situation wouldn't have happened. I don't care about your daughter. Do your job, nursey, and get the hell out of my face.

Vocabulary

Nathanael has spoken his first real word other than dada, mama, caca, and baba.

The word is "kitty."

Except it comes out "titty." I love it.

Seasons of love

525,600 minutes
525,000 moments so dear
525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?

One year ago. One year ago today my life changed, changed in a way I'd never expected. Oy. Here come the tears already.


I've never been so tired, so frustrated, and felt so incapable as I have in these last 12 months.
And never - never in my life - did I imagine that I would love one creature - that my life would revolve around someone so tiny - as much as I do and as much as it does. Nathanael is my world, my every joy, and my heart swells with so much love for him that it's scary. The love a mother feels for her child, I have learned, is unlike any other. It's completely indestructable, completely unconditional, and it's something that I feel so blessed, so privileged, to be able to know.

So. One year old. I have to admit that we're not exactly where I thought we'd be at this point in time. Still not walking, and not talking beyond a few words - mama, dada, baba, go (I *think*), and caca. Caca. That's my boy.

Boy, he loves life, though. He finds good in everything. He's fascinated by the world and I stand in awe at his wonder over the slightest things that I've long felt were mundane. I vow to make sure that he retains this love and this fascination for as long as possible.

This very second? One year ago? I was making the "dead man walking" walk from my labor room to the operating room. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I was terrified. I was excited. I was in disbelief that I was about to become a mother, become responsible for someone else's life other than my own. Nat's official birth time is 11:47 a.m. Oh sweet Jesus - someone get me some Kleenex brand facial tissues, would you?

I wish I could create a machine that would slow time down, just a little. I'm not sure that I'm ready for toddlerhood and the tantrums, the independence, and the inevitability that my baby boy is, indeed, growing up.

Happy, happy birthday to my baby boy. You have given me the most amazing 12 months of my life. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I am so happy to be your mama.

Finally!

My boy finally calls me by name. I was beginning to think I was invisible to him, or just so inconsequential that he felt as though he didn't need to bother with anything other than his "hey you" point. In any case, hearing his call of "mama mama mama" is music to my ears, and quite honestly I could listen to it all day.

Any time I've glanced at the clock today I've been thinking back to one year ago, wondering what I was doing. At this point, all I knew was that I was going in for a scheduled induction on the night of the 30th. It wouldn't be until later that evening that we all learned the little stinker had flipped around, prompting the docs to perform a c-section the following day.

I can't believe that it has been a year. I still remember what I wore...hell, even what I ate...on the day before he was born. I wonder if any of his first memories will be anything from his first year. I hope so...because if there's anything he should be able to know and remember from the last 12 months it should be how loved and adored he is.

Now - off to rescue him from whatever seems to be attempting to kill him in his crib.

Tone: nostalgic and happy :)

Survival

The party went off without a hitch. I consider it a major success. Good food, some good friends and family (and a bunch of peeps I didn't know), good presents, and a lot of fun. I, of course, got choked up singing Happy Birthday to Nat, but I imagine it was nothing close to the emotion I'll feel on Wednesday. He's still a baby in so many ways, but like a big boy in many others. It still makes me sad to think how quickly this year has passed, but I know every other mother on the planet feels the same way. But still - stay my baby boy a little longer, Nat, please?

As for Baby #2 - I'd like to clarify that never have I said/written that I regret getting pregnant. Do a word search on the blog - if you can find the word 'regret' then I'll happily give you $100. I wrote that I worry about having made a mistake for a few reasons....most of which have been voiced on this blog ....but never regret. Big difference. I know that this pregnancy is a blessing - I don't need to be reminded of that. But I also don't have to be happy with the way things have gone at this point. Would YOU be happy having to deal with profuse vomiting on a daily basis while also making sure your current baby's needs are being met? Doubtful. In any case, to all of you who have taken the time to send well wishes and good thoughts - thank you. You know you have special places in my heart and I appreciate your kind words and good intentions. :)

Now. Off to do some party damage control.

Party planning and c-sections

How in the world does your child's first birthday party turn into the event of the century? Nat's party is this weekend, and it won't be over fast enough. I have about 463 people attending, most of whom I don't know. I have to cook all of this food while battling a seriously queasy stomach, fighting the urge to dry heave and vomit all over what I've just prepared. We have friends coming in from out of town, arriving tomorrow, and of course we'll have to entertain them while they're here. How am I supposed to entertain when I'm usually dead asleep (thank you, Phenergan rectal suppositories that do nothing for nausea but make me delirious and sleepy) by 8:30? Stay tuned for updates. I'm sure there will be at least one disaster to report on.

Saw the OB on Tuesday for a checkup. Baby's still in there. It has verifiable legs and arms now. Looks like the arms are coming out of its mouth. Great. Bad news is that the pregnancy is in the left horn of my uterus. Back up for a minute. What, you say? You have a horn in your uterus? Yes, dear bloggers, I have a two-pronged uterus. A bicornuate uterus. It has two horns, kind of like the devil. Apropos, no? In any case, I'm pregnant on the left side, which is where the pregnancy was the last time around. At a prior visit the doctor had told me that if the pregnancy was in the right horn then we would attempt a vaginal birth rather than another c-section. So of course, because I'm convinced that God hates me, it's not in the right side. Which means an automatic c-section. Too much risk of uterine rupture. Fabulous thought, eh?

So. Last time I didn't know I was having a c-section until I got to the hospital. Now I have months and months to anticipate major surgery. So what's the big deal? Well, I'm uber-lucky enough to have a rare blood clotting disorder...so rare that I was graced with a pulmonary embolism in 2003...and, well, major surgery + clotting disorder = a bit of anticipatory anxiety. So while the average Jill runs the risk of dying during or after major surgery, my risk is just a little bit higher.

So excuse me if I can't rejoice over the little bundle soon to come. Excuse me if I'm less than thrilled about being pregnant at the moment. I'm being a little bit selfish right now in worrying that I'm going to kick the bucket, leaving my baby who is already here and already a huge part of my heart without a mother and without the memories of me, as he's really too young to remember me and all the love I've given him in this last year. Happy thoughts, aren't they?

I was tagged.

Someone tagged me in my comments. She wants me to list 8 things about myself. I'm in a foul mood today, so this should be interesting.

1. I hate Buffalo. I hate living here. I hate where we live. I hate only having one car. The city itself has a scent to it that I'd rather not know and that I'd rather not be associated with. I wish we were back in NYC. I'm not happy here. I don't know if I'll ever be happy here. Perhaps once we're in our own home in a better area things will perk up. Perhaps.

2. I miss my family. I miss the way things used to be. I cry about it. A lot.

3. It drives me nuts when someone calls my son Nate. That's not his name. It's Nathanael. Or Nat. Rhymes with hat. The ONLY person who is allowed to get away with it is my mom, and that's only because she asked if she could call him Nate the Great. So if you read this and you've ever called/ever wanted to call my son Nate - don't. Unless you're my mom.

4. I swear way too much. I swear way too much in front of the baby. I won't be surprised if his first honest-to-goodness word is "shitbag."

5. Sometimes I pretend I don't hear Nathanael when he cries in the middle of the night, just so that I don't have to be the one to tend to him. Hey, I'm pregnant - I need my sleep! And I bet there's not a single mom out there who hasn't done the same thing!

6. Cleaning the toilet makes me dry heave.

7. I worry that getting pregnant again was a huge mistake, for so many reasons.

11 months old

A few days late in posting Nat's 11 month status update. Been too busy vomiting up everything but the kitchen sink...although I think I did see it at one point...and being rehydrated in the hospital. Fun times.

But I digress.

My baby is one month away from turning the big 1.0. I can't even begin to describe the emotions associated with such a big event. Nothing like I ever imagined. My baby isn't a baby anymore, he's asserting his independence more and more, and it's actually breaking my heart. Not big into cuddling so much - hopefully it's a stage - and he gives W and me these looks that would imply he thinks we're crazy.

No walking, no talking. Don't get me started.

The newest thing is pointing. He points at everything. The cute part is that he doesn't point straight, so we really have no idea what he's intending to point to, so we pick the closest object and we tell him what it is. He knows what so many things are yet he's too stubborn to say the words. He's fascinated by people of other races/ethnicities. Awkwardly fascinated. We'll be in a waiting room, for example, and there will be someone of a different race, and he'll immediately pick that person out, crawl over to them, and look up and stare. And stare. Aaaaand stare. It's funny in a non-PC sort of way. He also enjoys the tubing on oxygen tanks.

Not much new from last month. We have his one-year check in about a month. We've decided to withhold the dreaded MMR shot for a couple of years (comments are not necessary, thank you) and are anxious to see how he's grown in the last 3 months and how he's doing according to the doc.

Planning for his first birthday party is nothing short of obsessive and ridiculous. He's my first baby, though, so I find no harm in spoiling him. We won't be able to give him everything he ever wants, but birthdays are special days whether or not he'll remember in 5 or 50 years, so we plan to celebrate big.

Our first year together is drawing to a close. It's bittersweet, really. I'm sad that it has passed by so quickly, but look forward to many more years of being mama to the best baby boy out there. We have this book that I bought but have yet to read to him because it's actually a bit depressing, but the mother in the story sings this to her baby boy - "I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be." My sentiments exactly. :)

Big Brother

Nat's going to be a big brother. Doctor's appointment next week to confirm the due date, but it's either late April or late May. We've been trying for a few months now, so there's been lots o' sex, a good $50 worth of pregnancy tests, a late and unusual period in there somewhere, followed by this month - dry heaving while attempting to drink a Vitamin Water, a pregnancy test turning up positive, some shock and awe, a second positive test, and a few mornings where vomiting seemed imminent. We're happy, of course, since we were trying, but I can help but feel a twinge of sadness that my baby won't be my baby anymore. Part of the reason we wanted another baby so soon was to (hopefully) bypass any feelings of jealousy and/or being replaced, plus we wanted Nat to have someone close in age. I've heard nothing but good things, though, from parents of children so close in age - I'll have 2 under 2 - so I don't doubt that Nat and this baby - whom we currently refer to as Gumdrop - will be the best of friends. Mommy instinct tells me that this one's a girl.

This blog and my world will continue to revolve around my Nat. I'll throw in the occasional comment about cravings, hemmorhoids, stretch marks, and whatever else I feel so inclined to share with you, my wonderful readers. For now I must depart to rescue my son who is giving off the impression that dark and evil forces are trying to torture him in his crib.

Two under two. What the hell was I thinking? :)

10 months old

Where is the time going? Seriously. I can remember this time last year like it was yesterday. Puking, random trip to Coney Island for a hot dog and ice cream cone, coming home to puke again and then wanting some cheese fries...extra bacon, thank you. My little baby isn't a baby anymore!

No walking and talking yet, but we're pretty darn close. How long have I been saying that for? I don't know. We're cruising along the furniture and walls like a professional, and we're babbling and indicating wants/needs/dislikes...just not with words. Unless "wo wo" counts as a word. I can ask Nat where the following things are, and he looks and will occasionally bring them to me: kitty, dada, book, baby (in the magazines), baba, Bunzy (his beloved rabbit), and block. Now we just need to get him talkin'.

He waves. He has 6 teeth. He crawls faster than an ant on speed. He can stand independently for a few seconds, but lacks the confidence to take those first steps. He can drink out of a sippy cup on his own. He loves his soft monkey blanket. He gets a kick out of seeing his own reflection. He throws temper tantrums like you wouldn't believe in the following situations - diaper changing time, when I won't let him eat cat food, and when he gets a no-no taken away from him. He loves turkey, pancakes, chili, anything spicy, cheese, wheat bread, blueberry bagels, carrots, sweet potatoes, chicken, grilled cheese, veggie burgers, peas, spinach, Cheerios, Earth's Best vanilla cookies, spaghetti w/mama's homemade sauce, and graham cracker ice cream.

He is all boy. Likes to play rough. Also very clingy at times, though. Has a dear, dear heart. Loves to cuddle only with mama at bedtime. A definite daddy's boy at other times. Loves to play on the baby swings at the park. Loves birds and trees. Loves his Rolly Pollies class and the other babies there. Loves to listen to music. Loves to play peekaboo and when mama chases him through the apartment.

He continues to be a happy baby. He plays independently so well, but definitely demands undivided attention. I worry about how he'll react to a sibling.

These 10 months have gone by much too quickly. I look down at him while he's asleep in my arms when we "rock-a-rock" at bedtime, and it brings tears to my eyes to think that he won't want to do that for much longer. While I love to see him develop and accomplish new tasks, I'm also silently willing him to stay a baby for a little longer.

9 months old

I apparently neglected to write an entry when Nat turned 8 months old. Oops. I've recorded it in my journal, though, so all is not lost.

Nat turns 9 months old today. 39 weeks. In 5 days I'll be able to say that he has been out longer than he was in. I'm having a party to celebrate that.

So much has changed/progressed since last I wrote. Nat is completely mobile. Not walking yet, but crawling all over the place. Following me whenever I walk out of sight and crawling to me like a spider on steroids, tugging on my pant leg (because, really, who wants to see me in shorts in 90 degree weather?) because he wants me to pick him up. I can no longer pee and poop in private. He must be there with me, every step of the way - watching and encouraging, being fascinated by the sounds from within the toilet.

He's pulling himself up on things, getting braver and braver by the day - letting go with one hand before the inevitable thump on the floor. He'll "cruise" along the furniture. He flings himself forward onto his belly - launches himself, really. He's creepy-flexible...maybe I have a gymnast on my hands? He's long and lean except for his Michelin Man arms.

He's still trying hard to talk. Nothing I can comprehend yet - oftentimes he'll look at me and say, "ha ha." He's either laughing at me or he enjoys the sound it makes when he breathes out and vocalizies at the same time.

He likes when I put on loud music and we dance around the room. He's partial to oldies and showtunes.

4 teeth are in - two on top and two on the bottom, and one of his canine teeth is ramming its way through with lightning fast speed. Teething is a real bitch! Massive amounts of Aleve and/or Motrin don't seem to do the trick. Nat, on the other hand, does just fine with a nice Tyleon/Orajel cocktail. He becomes very excited when he sees the Tylenol dropper coming his way. I've created a junkie.

I definitely see some of the boy stereotypes in his every day behavior. If his diaper is off he needs to have his hands on his peesh. Always. He loves the remote. He whines if he doesn't get his way. Everything has to get kicked and thrown around - first by his feet, then by his hands. He likes to play rough. He loves when I bop him with a pillow - playfully, of course.

Sleeping is still an issue. He'll have his nights where he's up a few times because he wants to play, leaving him in the greatest of moods the following day. We're getting there, though. Slowly. I have a renewed respect for coffee now.

My baby isn't a baby anymore. He's quickly becoming a little boy and I can see far into the future already - craving independence, first day of school, driving, college, girlfriends and marriage...the latter giving me the biggest head and heartache of all. I can remember the exhasting first few weeks and people with knowing smiles would tell me to cherish his babyhood because it would go by fast. I remember thinking, in my sleep deprived, post-surgical state, that these people were idiots...time doesn't go by quickly, he would be a baby for a long time, and I would never know a decent night of sleep ever again. They were right, though. I can still remember when he was a brand new baby like it was yesterday. I wish I hadn't spent so much time worrying that I was doing things wrong, or fretting because I was so tired. I suppose it's a lesson all new parents learn, though. For now, I'll continue to cuddle during feeding times and relish the quiet moments when he lays his head on my shoulder and nods off to sleep, because they won't be around forever.

7 months old

Where in the world does the time go?

7 months ago right now I was probably just getting cleaned up after my c-section. The hands of 3 nurses washing the blood off of my lower half, and me feeling mortified and a little dosconcerted that I couldn't feel them doing it because I was overly numb from my spinal. Taking my gown off to change me into a fresh one - whipping it off in one swift movement, leaving me lying on the cold steel table, naked, bloody, and high on drugs. Yikes.

Nathanael is in such a great stage right now. Still only has the 2 teeth. Still not crazy about solid foods but will eat a little bit at a time. He constantly babbles, speaking to books, stuffed animals, hairs...you name it. I wish I had a baby babble decoder. He sits up on his own like a pro. Still no crawling, but he's getting there, and it won't be quick enough for him. He tries so hard and gets so frustrated. It's awfully cute. His combination Irish and Italian temper is definitely starting to show itself. He gets angry when I try to feed him when he's had enough - he'll bang on the tray of the high chair and yell. When he's on his mat and is bored, he'll throw his hands up in the air and bring them down in a very dramatic swoop, banging on the floor at the very end. Ah, my little dramatist.

He had/has his first ear infection, and thus an introduction to the dreaded pink stuff - the "bubble gum flavor" liquid amoxicillin. Administering it to him brought back horrid flashbacks from my childhood, and smelling it made me gag. I had an inkling that that's what his issue was, took him to the doctor, and voila, I was right. He also has a bad cold, but it seems to be on its way out.

With the weather (finally) turning warm in Buffalo, we've been spending a lot of time outside. He loves grass. He can't get enough of pulling itout of the ground and rubbing his feet in it. We're going to attempt his baby pool for the first time this afternoon after his nap.

He's just growing up way too fast. I feel sad in thinking that I didn't pay enough attention to the minor details of just being when he was a new new baby. I suppose every first time mom has that feeling, though. We're too tired and too stressed. I just hope he doesn't outgrow his mommy any time soon. I love that I'm the only one who can provide comfort when he needs it. That he can still fall asleep on my chest or in my arms. That he still loves to be rocked, and looks at me with adoring eyes as I sing to him.

Stay a baby a little while longer, Nat. I'm not ready for you to grow up yet!

6 months old

My baby boy turned 6 months old last week. I can hardly believe it. It doesn't seem possible that this time last year I was in misery from being so sick, but so elated at the thought of the little one growing inside of me. I didn't officially know that I was having a boy yet, but I knew. I knew from the beginning. I believe I even asked my OB to note it in the chart on my first appointment. :)

The baby has cut his first tooth - finally! It popped up this past Friday after a looooong, painful few weeks of whining, biting, chewing, drooling, etc. I had a happy babe on my hands for a few days, but I think the second bottom middle tooth is getting ready to sprout because his evil side has started to show itself again. He can sit unsupported. He's crawling. He's still wanting so badly to speak but isn't quite there. He did say "pimp" the other day, though. Hmm.
We're busy with playgroups, swimming, and yoga. We've got a date for the zoo and the playground later this week. We're turning into social butterflies! Everyone at the trendy Central Perk-ish coffee shop here in the neighborhood thinks that he's such a cute baby boy, and of course I have to agree. He'll blow spit bubbles and raspberries at someone if they bend down to say hello to him and then follow up with a huge smile. He loves to be outside on the grass - a "luxury" he didn't know until we moved here. He loves the sound of the birds, he loves to look right up at the sun, likes to look at the trees...not so thrilled with bugs (like his mama), but hey, who can blame him? He's starting to show his temper - definitely asserting the Irish side of his heritage. He'll get mad if you take something away, if he drops something and wants it back, if I don't feed him quickly enough, etc. He loves to sit in his little portable high chair in restaurants when we go out - he loves to show off what a big boy he is. He isn't crazy about riding in his car seat for long periods of time. This was to be expected, though, because he didn't really start riding in a car seat at all until a couple of weeks ago when we bought our car. He'll get used to it. We have our well baby check at the end of the week, so I'll be anxious to see how much he weighs and how he reacts to a male doctor giving him his next round of shots. Mama likes the new pediatrician! *wink wink*

Nathanael is 24 weeks old today. 24 weeks ago right now I was probably still chillin' in the recovery room, still numb/high from my spinal. I saw Nat only very briefly in the operating room. The doctors allowed Will to carry him over to me so that I could kiss his perfect face. I remember he was crying when Will brought him over, and, in my anesthetized state, whispered, "Hi Nathanael. I'm your mama." And he stopped crying. And it was true love from there. Then they whisked him away to do the new baby stuff, and I saw him about an hour later in recovery after I was finished getting my guts put back in place. I attempted to nurse him and succeeded on the first try, but they took him away again pretty quickly so that I could get my rest. I remember not being too happy with the nurses at the hospital - they kept taking him away from me, advised against rooming in so that I could rest, and, when he was badly jaundiced and had lost a pound in the hospital, told me that he needed formula and said, "See, this is what happens when you exclusively breastfeed." And cue the guilt that only mothers can feel. I have no idea why I'm even posting any of this. As you can tell, I'm still a little bitter about it.

We are 99% packed for this bitch of a move. We'll finish tonight, and then tomorrow night, our last night in Brooklyn, we'll likely hit one of our favorite eateries for one last meal here. And then begins the next chapter of our lives. We will be on our way to *gasp* settling down. Even though we're renting for a year, we're moving to the town we will call home.

Oh - and because this move isn't stressful enough, or because God is feeling punchy from packing, too, I am sick. Why I'm still getting ear infections at age 30 (29) is beyond me. Being sick and dealing with an overtired teething 24-week-old baby is not my idea of fun. My doctor has me on Cipro, so I'm expecting a raging yeast infection to crop up any day now. Throw in my period, which, incidentally, has gotten longer and bloodier since giving birth (can you honestly say you gave birth if you had a c-section?), and you have the kind of fun that's comparable to a carnival in hell co-hosted by Al Sharpton and Oprah.

This is so not where I wanted to go with this. But my mind just went blank as I sit here and watch my neutered cat hump his spayed sister. It's like a car accident - you know you should just continue on your way but you can't...help....looking.

Nathanael is close to sitting up on his own. He still ends up folding himself in half like a creepy contortionist, but he can hold his body upright for a minute or so at a time. He's teething and it's quite obviously causing him a great deal of discomfort - he stopped wolfing down solid food, he's rash-y, he's SO whiny, and he's lost interest in being social. So of course I think he's autistic, but our pediatrician is assuring us that these are classic signs of teething. I don't believe her. I don't even think she's a real doctor.

Nathanael is awake. I better turn Halloween 4 off before he gets ideas planted in his head.

Am I doing something wrong?

Mother of the year I am not. My son is bored with me. He's bored with his toys. He can't sit up on his own yet, even though many babies who are just a few days older than him have been doing it for a couple of weeks now. I worry that I'm not providing enough stimulation for him. I've run out of ideas on how to interact with him. Is this something to worry about? He shows no interest in playing with toys. Being his primary caregiver is an incredibly stressful job. I didn't think it would be so hard this early on. I feel like everything falls on my shoulders.

He has entered a clingy phase, whining every time I leave the room. That one doesn't bother me so much - I feel flattered, in fact. He's begun sleeping on his stomach, however at times will bury his face in the mattress and not move it. We've been staying up until ungodly hours to ensure that he does, in fact, remain breathing. We're exhausted.

We're seeing a pediatric ophthalmologist tomorrow. We were initially told on 3/16 that he had conjunctivitis. Two weeks and two different antibiotics later, the doctor changed her mind and told us that he has a clogged tear duct. I'm thrilled that I pumped my son full of antibiotics for nothing. Yet another oversight by this pediatrician. Several days ago he begin blinking like it was hurting him to look at things, so we were referred to a specialist. I can't wait to meet the man who thinks he's going to examine my son's eyes....my son who sees fit to wiggle all over the place whenever placed on his back. Good luck, doc.

We're making a huge move next week. Across the state. Into yet another apartment, but as God as my witness this will be the last apartment.

I'm worried about my baby. I'm worried that there's something going on or not going on that's causing him to have this lack of interest in most things play. I hate that I get the pleasure of bearing this burden alone. I hate that my only real outlet to vent is in this blog or to the message board I've belonged to since I found out I was pregnant.

And now I must go, as he is face down on the floor and probably ingesting cat hair.

Almost a year since I posted last!

Since last I posted, I have, quite obviously, given birth. I had my son on Halloween - oh what fun birthday parties we'll have! My pregnancy was horrid - hyperemis gravardium (severe 24/7 morning sickness), twice-daily heparin injections (thank you, blood clotting disorder), horrible pain from a uterine abnormality (so horrible, in fact, that I spent the last 4 weeks of my pregnancy doped up on Percocet), only to have in end with a c-section....but the result was amazing. Needless to say, then, keeping this blog updated on the progress of my pregnancy was so far down on my lsit of priorities that I forgot all about it until today. I have this incredible angel baby boy in my life now, and I LOVE being a mom. I get frustrated like I never have been before when he won't sleep (and sometimes I growl at him in frustration, but he just laughs at me). But through the frustration I try to imagine what life was like before him and I can't. And I don't want to. I love this life. I love this privlege I have of being a mother. I feel like I've joined a secret society, where only a special, selected few can revel in what they experienced and are experiencing and will experience. There is no greater role in life than mother.

We're making a HUGE move in about 2 1/2 weeks. Finally settling down. Not in a house yet, but hopefully next year. We'll be a lot closer to my family, and I love that the baby will get to know his Gran and Grandpa and Auntie A.

The babe turned 5 months old 3 days ago. I can't believe it. He's huge, and incredibly brilliant, of course. SO much fun. He looks at you while you're talking to him like he's trying hard to understand what you're saying, but becomes very upset when he realizes that I can't understand him. He's so impatient, just like his mama. His laugh is infectious. His smile warms your heart. He has an incredibly mischievious air about him, and I have a feeling he's going to give me a run for my money as he grows older. He's just now starting to sleep through the night. He eats solid foods once or twice a day and there isn't anything he won't eat. He tries so hard to walk when we stand him up, but shows no desire to crawl. He wants to sit up on his own, and is beginning to learn what's involved, but hasn't quite mastered it yet. He has me wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

We need lots of stuff

But we lack the funds. Who wants to throw me a baby shower? Anyone? Anyone? I even started a registry although I know there's no point. How pathetic, but it's fun to dream.

The term "morning sickness" is such a misnomer. Mine is there when I wake up in the morning, getting progressively worse throughout the day, peaking between 5 and 9 p.m., and then settling down when it's time to go to sleep....which is right about the time my heart starts to rev up and begins to beat between 95 and 100 beats/minute. While I haven't actually thrown up during these hours of being nauseated, I'm constantly gagging and the nausea is enough to leave me feeling incapacitated for much of the day.

So of course we've chosen to move NOW.

Well, 2 weeks from now to be exact, but the fun of packing and throwing out all of the shit we have accumulated over the last 10 months. Before we moved we threw out a ton of shit (including nice furniture that, of course, would have fit perfectly in the new place) and swore that we wouldn't accumulate anymore.

I'm off to Brooklyn. Vomiting is imminent. This will be a fun subway ride.

Cravings

For the entire week before I found out I was pregnant I craved sushi. Craved it madly. Never ate it before those 5 or 6 days, and once I finally (over)indulged in the craving, I decided that I will likely never eat it again. For the last few days, I can't seem to get enough hot and spicy foods. As I type this, I am eating pickled jalepenos out of the jar with a fork...and they're soooo good.

We're going to look at a few places in Brooklyn tomorrow. I'm excited about beginning the process to get the hell outta here.

We have our first appointment/ultrasound 1 week from today. I've joined a fabulous message board for moms-to-be, and since I'm estimating my due date to be sometime in October, I've joined the "October Moms" group....many of the ladies are having their first ultrasounds done, and some can see/hear the heartbeats, and some not yet but soon. I'm getting jealous of the ultrasound pictures that they're posting, so next Friday can't come soon enough.

I saw a pair of wonderful camouflage maternity capris on the Old Navy website. I'm more than just a little excited about that...I wonder when maternity clothes start to be a necessity? How sad that I'll have to go shopping for clothes by myself. :( I wish I had someone here to go with me! Shopping for maternity clothes with your husband, I would imagine, isn't quite as fun.

I think I'm going to make some chicken salad.

First picture

Until I have an ultrasound picture, this is what I get to look at. I threw away the other 4. We're planning on saving the original test...to show him/her some day, I guess. Is that gross? I found it on the floor this morning, knocked off of a high book shelf by a disgruntled cat. I can imagine the scenario now.....

"Baby? We don't want no stinking baby!" Suddenly, a Matrix-like move by Dewey, the male cat, from the bed to the shelf, and with one swish of the paw the test is brushed from its safe yet temporary holding place to the parquet floor of our cold bedroom. "Ha ha ha, sweet revenge is mine!" exclaims Dewey, cheering in victorious unison with the 2 girl cats.

I walk into the bedroom to see what the commotion is all about and am met by the hateful stares of 3 cats. Celine, the alpha female, glances quickly from me to the shelf that once held the blue-lined stick. I start to walk to the other side of the bed when I feel something beneath my feet. I know what it is before I even look. I scream in horror as I look to the shelf to confirm my fear - the test is not there. I have squished my baby beneath my left foot. I open my mouth to yell; the cats, sensing this, scatter to different corners of the apartment. I bend down to peel the stick from the bottom of my foot, check for cracks and breathe a sigh of relief when I discover none.

I decide to place the stick in the top drawer of my nightstand, among unmentionable items, and feel immediately guilty. I remove it and place it on the lap of Roger, the trusted Build-A-Bear monkey, who hails from his throne on the top-most shelf of the bookcase. Roger got me through my long and lonely nights in the hospital several years ago, and will take care of Baby Stick until it finds its permanent home in a baby book.

Test results today are positive. My hCG is 1800+, which means it's doing exactly what it should be doing. My progesterone levels have dropped a bit, which could be indicitive of a problem if they continue to drop, but for now I'm okay and the nurse is confident that my current level is okay. I'm starting prenatal vitamins this evening, so I'm anxious to see how my body reacts. Because we weren't planning the pregnancy I wasn't taking any vitamins before, so we're getting started a little late with that but hopefully it'll give Cletus all of the nutrients s/he needs. I'm done with the blood work until my first appointment next week, so the fact that the nurse is satisfied enough with my inital progress to have me wait until next week (instead of every other day) is a bit comforting.

I did some online searching for apartments today. I don't know how we're going to afford a 2-bedroom place in Bk'lyn, but we have to. We have to. If I have to beg, borrow, and steal (don't be surprised if you see me on the subway with a cup for change, ha ha ha) to get out of here I will.

If it gets any colder here I'm going to turn into an ice sculpture.